


Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys at the Golden Gardenia

by heightsninenews



Series: Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew Super Mysteries [1]
Category: Nancy Drew (Video Games), Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys Super Mysteries - Franklin W. Dixon & Carolyn Keene
Genre: Gen, Message in a Haunted Mansion, Project NDAE, mhm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:28:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21855574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heightsninenews/pseuds/heightsninenews
Summary: “I don’t think we can trust Charlie,” Frank declares, settling into Nancy’s desk chair.  They’ve been at the bed and breakfast for two days, and thus far, Frank and Joe have not ventured out to take advantage of the city even once. Instead, the pair have helped Nancy talk to (read: interrogate) the others at the mansion. Whenever someone gets suspicious, they rotate. It’s a surprisingly efficient system, even if it does lead to a lot of headaches.Nancy frowns at him. “Why not?”“Yeah Frank, seriously? If there’s anyone here we should worry about, it’s Louis. Guy gives me the creeps.” Joe shudders dramatically, leaning against the closed door.“You just don’t like him because of his laptop maze,” Frank accuses, which to be fair, is true. Joe spent over an hour on that laptop maze, only for Nancy to solve it in two minutes.(Or, that one where the Hardy Boys happen to be around during the events of Message in a Haunted Mansion)
Series: Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew Super Mysteries [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1574557
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys at the Golden Gardenia

“You know, I wasn’t too sure about all those contest sweepstakes, but this one might not be too bad,” Frank Hardy admits, stretching slightly as he stands up from his seat. “The Exploratorium, the Cable Car Museum, the Golden Gate Bridge—”

“Alcatraz!” Joe exclaims excitedly, raising his arm and accidentally smacking an old woman on the shoulder. “Whoops, sorry ma’am! Let’s get out of here Frank, there’s no room to move around.”

Frank sighs. “We’re on an airplane. Why would there be extra space?”

The Hardy brothers had won an all-expenses-paid trip to San Francisco, after Joe had entered a contest he found in the back of a magazine. They were staying in the city for one week, on one of the only vacations Frank could remember that didn’t come with a mystery attached. They’d landed at SFO and planned to eat a late lunch before checking into their hotel.

As they roll their luggage down the ramp leading into the airport, Frank checks his watch. He's pretty sure they might be able to make the three o’clock tour at the California Academy of Sciences, but that can only happen if Joe cooperates and moves _quickly_. “The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can drop off our things at the hotel, and the sooner we can actually explore.”

“I’m starving,” Joe complains, rubbing his stomach. “Can’t we stop to eat at one of these places?” He gestures to the various fast food restaurants lining the sides of the airport terminals.

Frank makes a face. “Does it have to be McDonald’s? Why don’t we try that place?” He motions to a bar and grill that looks adequate and not too busy. They can be in and out, he reassures himself, compulsively checking his watch again. Airport restaurants have to be fast, right?

Joe nods. “Yeah, okay. Let’s see if we can find—hey, is that…? Come on Frank, we’ve _got_ to eat here!” He bypasses the hostess and headed toward the corner booth, dodging an irate waiter and an elderly woman with a small dog, to stop at a table where a familiar-looking girl in a blue cashmere sweater and sensible khaki pants sits, head bent over a diary.

She glances up, surprised—and then pleased. “Joe Hardy! What are you doing in San Francisco?” Nancy Drew stands up and hugs him excitedly. On the seat next to her is the trusty backpack she always brings along on a mystery, along with a San Francisco guidebook peeking out of the side pocket. “And Frank too! It’s so good to see you guys!”

Frank receives his own hug with a twinge of surprise. “Nancy, I can’t believe it! Are you working a case?” he asks, though he’s certain he already knows the answer. All thoughts of museum tours are completely wiped out of his mind at the chance of talking with Nancy again.

“I sure am, although I don’t know how exciting it will be. I told Hannah I’d come out here and help a friend of hers who’s trying to open a bed and breakfast.” She tucks a lock of titian hair behind her ear and waves her hand toward the seats in front of her. “Come on, sit, I’ll tell you all about it.”

Frank and Joe trade grins—it’s been a while since they’ve seen Nancy—and settle in for a good story.

* * *

“Wow.” Joe lets out a low whistle. “This place is kind of…”

Frank doesn’t want to seem rude, but the dilapidated house in front of them is not at all what he expected from the information Nancy gave them. “You’re sure this is it?” he asks, craning his head up to look up. One of the second-floor windows is boarded up. In another, he can just make out the outline of a figure passing in front of the light.

“4653 California Lane?” Joe calls to the cab driver, who gestures impatiently at the house. It thunders ominously in the background and big, fat raindrops start to fall slowly on top of them.

“Well, she did say they’re not done with the renovations,” Nancy murmurs doubtfully, gazing up at the classic San Francisco mansion. The stairs and the wraparound porch both look a little weak, to say the least, and most of the windows are covered with plastic. She lifts her luggage and tentatively sets one foot on the first step. “Thanks for dropping me off, guys.”

“No problem,” Frank assures her, turning to head back into the cab they took. “Good luck with the mystery, Nan—"

“Actually…” Joe interrupts, his eyes lighting up. Frank turns back to find Joe still standing by the stairs leading up the porch. “We were thinking—”

“Nope, there is no ‘we’ anywhere in the next sentence,” Frank declares firmly. He doesn’t need Joe getting him into trouble again, and he definitely doesn’t want a repeat of the Rio incident.

“Fine, _I_ was thinking, that if Rose has another room available, Frank and I could stay here and help out with your case!” Joe bounces on the balls of his feet, looking remarkably like a golden retriever.

Nancy’s eyebrows fly up. “What about your vacation?”

“Vacation, shmacation.” Joe sidles past Nancy, bounds up the steps with nary a care in the world, and opens the door with a flourish. “We can do that any old time, but how often are we invited to an actual mansion?”

“We weren’t invited,” Frank interjects firmly. “Rose doesn’t even know we’re coming, she probably only has one room prepared, and she doesn’t need more people underfoot when she’s trying to figure out what’s going on with all these accidents.” He shuts the door of the taxi to prevent cold air from rushing in—he has a feeling he and Joe are going to be arguing about this for a while—before ascending the stairs to stand next to Nancy. “Nan, you need help with your bag?”

“No, I’ve got it,” she says, smiling reassuringly. “And it’s really nice of you to offer Joe, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea. Like Frank said, Rose is only expecting me, and Hannah said she’s been pretty stressed lately.” She heaves the luggage up the last few steps with a grunt, looking mildly strained.

“At least let me get this,” Frank insists, pulling Nancy’s backpack off her shoulder. “Joe, Nancy said no, that’s that. We need to check in to our hotel soon before they give away our room. Then, tomorrow, we can see Alcatraz, right?” he adds to soften the blow. Joe is a pouter, and he’d really rather not deal with that on the first day of their vacation.

“Oh, come on, guys. The more detectives the merrier, right?” Joe points out, making to head into the mansion. He stops dead when he comes face to face with a middle-aged woman in a bright red sweater.

“That’s right,” she answers warmly. “I suppose you would be one of those detectives?” The first thing Frank notices is that this woman looks like she stepped right out of the 80s, complete with mom jeans and Coke bottle glasses. The second thing he notices is the stress lines decorating her face, as even the dim lighting in the main hall shows off.

“Ms. Green!” Nancy gasps. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to presume that we could—“

“We were just leaving, actually,” Frank assures her hastily.

“Oh no, don’t be silly. I believe this young man here is correct, after all. The more minds working on this mess, the quicker we can straighten the whole thing out and the renovations can get back on schedule.”

She is smiling, but Frank has the oddest impression that she’s not actually happy to see them. “Now, obviously you’re Nancy, but you two boys are, well, a _mystery_ to me!” She laughs quietly to herself and doesn’t notice that she’s the only one amused.

Joe’s clearly beginning to question if this was a good idea, but he was the one who suggested it, so he plunges in headfirst. “I’m Joe Hardy, ma’am, and this is my older brother, Frank. We’re both detectives, we’ve worked with Nancy on loads of cases before—well, usually by phone—but that’s beside the point. Sorry for the short notice, we had no idea we’d be in San Francisco at the same time.” He rakes a hand through his hair and grabs Nancy’s bag, for lack of something else to do.

Before Rose can answer, there’s another, louder crack of thunder and the rain starts to pour down on them. Their cab abruptly speeds away, racing down the street before they can even think to flag it down.

“Hey!” Joe calls out, waving his hand frantically as they watch the taxi disappear around the corner. “Unbelievable! We definitely told him to stick around, and now he just leaves us here?”

Rose tilts her head to the side. “Please, come in and get out of the rain. It’s much warmer inside the house, I promise.”

The three of them clamber inside the house and try to keep from tracking water through the entryway. Joe immediately unzips his hoodie and tosses it on the straight-backed chair next to the front door. Nancy drifts over to a display on the wall and starts examining it carefully.

Frank turns to Rose and sticks out his hand for a shake, still hoping to make a good first impression on the woman, even if Joe might have just blown it for them both. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Green. We really are sorry for just showing up like this.”

Rose takes his hand and shakes limply. “No, no, we can always use more hands. I’m not sure how exciting these renovations will be for the two of you, but you’re certainly welcome to stay for as long as you’d like.”

It’s oddly generous for a woman who doesn’t know either of them at all. Frank and Joe shoot each other concerned looks and move a little closer to Nancy, who’s inspecting a photo of the mansion on the wall. If Rose really doesn’t think the accidents are anything to be worried about, then why is she so willing to have them around?

“Besides, this way we’ll have two more strapping young man around to help take some of the burden off Charlie!” Rose says brightly.

“Oh,” mutters Joe, apparently relieved her motive isn’t more sinister. “So we’ll be free labor, then.”

Frank hushes him immediately, but Rose doesn’t notice Joe speaking. It does explain why she’s so eager to have strangers stay over, but something still doesn’t seem right to Frank.

The entryway looks a little less rundown than the outside of the house, but the place is far from ready for guests. Frank steps forward and hears the floor creak beneath his feet. An old grandfather clock in the corner chimes loudly, but he’s relatively certain it’s about twenty minutes behind. It looks like Rose is going to need all the help she can get.

“Now, as it just so happens, I’ve got one more room that should be alright to stay in, and it’s just down the hall from Nancy’s. That is, as long as you two don’t mind sharing?” She peeps over her glasses at them.

“Oh no, not at all, ma’am. Frank and I still share a room at home, actually, our beds are pretty close together, we’re only a year apart in age, y’know? So we kinda do everything together, haha…” Joe trails off when he realizes Frank is glaring at him.

Luckily, Nancy’s there to save the two of them from embarrassment. “Who is Charlie?”

Rose looks startled at the question. “Charlie is the young man helping with the renovations. He’s in charge of pretty much all the handy stuff going on around here. Other than him, Louis Chandler, an antique dealer helping me with furnishings, comes in most days to work in the library. There’s also my partner, Abby. She’s in the room at the top of the stairs. You can meet them later, though, it’s getting late. I’ll show you to your rooms now.”

Rose leads them up the creaking staircase slowly, glancing around surreptitiously with each step. Frank wonders if she’s afraid of something. He, Joe, and Nancy trade nervous looks before following after the strange woman. He’s not totally sure what’s going on here, but he’s certain it’s more than just a few accidents.

* * *

“I don’t think we can trust Charlie,” Frank declares, settling into Nancy’s desk chair. They’ve been at the bed and breakfast for two days, and thus far, Frank and Joe have not ventured out to take advantage of the city even once. Instead, the pair have helped Nancy talk to (read: interrogate) the others at the mansion. Whenever someone gets suspicious, they rotate. It’s a surprisingly efficient system, even if it does lead to a lot of headaches.

Nancy frowns at him. “Why not?”

“Yeah Frank, seriously? If there’s anyone here we should worry about, it’s Louis. Guy gives me the creeps.” Joe shudders dramatically, leaning against the closed door.

“You just don’t like him because of his laptop maze,” Frank accuses, which to be fair, is true. Joe spent over an hour on that laptop maze, only for Nancy to solve it in two minutes. “Louis is a salesman, he’s bound to seem a little greedy. His whole job is to make as much off a place like this as possible by pushing Rose into buying the most expensive antiques he can find.”

“Have you ever noticed that most of the expensive stuff is also really ugly?” Joe muses.

Nancy hides her laughter behind her hand.

“But I’m telling you, there’s definitely something going on with Charlie," Frank insists, getting them back on track."He’s not your average handyman—I don’t think he even knows what he’s doing half the time.”

Joe rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Just because he’s not great at drywall doesn’t mean he’s our guy. Charlie and I are bros. Actually, he kinda reminds me of someone…” he trails off, tapping his chin as he thinks.

“It’s not _just_ the drywall,” says Nancy. “He doesn’t seem to have any idea what to do with those loose floorboards, the wall sconces are painted very sloppily, and I caught him trying to fix the leaky faucet in the downstairs bathroom with a hammer.”

As usual, Joe simply digs his heels in further when questioned. “Still, that doesn’t mean he’s behind it all. Charlie seems inexperienced, not malicious.”

Frank shakes his head and turns to the only sane person in the room. “What do you think, Nancy? Who's your main suspect?”

“Well…” Nancy pauses diplomatically. “Obviously, it’s too early to rule anyone out, and both Louis and Charlie have been acting a little weird. But honestly, I think we should be focused on Abby.”

Joe groans. “Is this because of the ghost thing?”

Frank furrows his brow, feeling out of the loop. “What ghost thing?”

“Abby thinks the mansion really is haunted,” Joe explains. “Sure, she’s a little kooky, but come on! She’s right about some things. When we met, before I could even tell her my name, she said that she knew who I was and that I was a bright, intelligent young man who was open to new possibilities.”

Frank grimaces; his brother doesn’t usually get taken in so easily, but he gets a little excited by the possibility of ghosts. “And I’m sure her saying that has nothing to do with you believing her.”

“Fine, maybe it was a little bit of flattery,” Joe admits begrudgingly. “But then explain how she knew my name before I introduced myself?”

“She probably got your name from Rose!”

“She didn’t know _your_ name,” counters Joe. “Probably because your negative energy is clouding her abilities!”

Frank shoots Nancy a pained expression and doesn't say a word in response.

Joe ignores him and continues. “Anyway, if you hadn’t ‘mocked the supernatural’ when you first met her, you would understand—you would’ve seen what we saw.”

“Seen _what_?” Frank asks, exasperated.

Nancy shifts on the bed to sit cross-legged for a minute and chews her lip contemplatively. “Abby held a séance the other night, and this—thing appeared. It spoke to us, said its name was Valdez, and then…vanished.”

Frank straightens in the chair, alarmed by this turn of events. “You don’t honestly think it was a ghost, do you?”

“No, of course not,” Nancy says, while Joe nods his head emphatically. “Ghosts don’t exist,” she adds pointedly towards the blond. “Abby must have been faking it, but I’m not sure how…or why.”

“Rose said she was the drama coach back in River Heights,” comments Frank. “She could easily just be pretending to believe in all this nonsense, using some old props and special effects, and trying to trick us.”

Joe disagrees. “Look, I know you and Nance are ‘skeptics,’” (here he uses air quotes, and Frank desperately wants to roll his eyes), “but there are some things going on in this place that you just can’t explain. It’s a creepy house. This poem!” He shakes it before jabbing a finger at the first line. “That’s creepy! This room, the whole ancient Chinese theme, is creepy. And this morning, I walked down the front stairs, and I swear I heard someone say something, but when I turned back around, there was no one there!”

Frank laughs. Joe always scares easily, he thinks to himself, and he catches Nancy’s eye. She’s smiling slightly too, resting her head on the bedpost. “Joe, come on. It’s an old building, you probably just heard the house settling. And this room isn’t creepy, it’s just ugly,” he retorts, thinking in particular of the green dragon statue on the fireplace.

“I don’t know if I’d call it ugly,” Nancy murmurs idly, tracing the detailing of the bedpost with her finger.

“I’m telling you guys, something’s going on here. And even if Abby did fake that séance, why would she have it say ‘Valdez?’ Why give us a clue?” Joe argues, clearly believing he’s won this round.

Nancy won't let him off so easy. “She could have gotten it from that box of papers she found in my room. She left it in the parlor, and I went through it this morning. It looks like a previous owner of this place was named E. Valdez.”

“It might not even be a clue,” Frank points out. “For all we know, she could be leading us on a wild goose chase so she can…honestly, I’m still not totally clear on this part,” he admits, turning to Nancy.

“Why is someone causing all these accidents?” She flops back onto the bed and sighs. “That’s the real mystery, isn’t it? If it’s not a ghost behind all this—if it’s a real person—then what’s the point of the accidents? My best guess is Rose, for the insurance money, you know? But that doesn’t make much sense either. She’s the one who asked me to come out here.” She grabs a pillow off the bed and flings it over her face, giving a little scream of frustration into it.

Frank stands up and starts to pace. “Maybe…just because she called you, doesn’t mean she’s not behind it. She could be trying to throw off suspicion, in case the insurance company thinks the same thing we do.” Something about it still doesn’t sit right with him. Rose is not normal, certainly, but she hasn’t done anything to warrant extra suspicion.

Joe perches himself on the edge of Nancy’s desk. “Or maybe, it’s time the two of you open your minds and realize that there could be external factors at play here—supernatural external factors.” He raises an eyebrow at them. “Are you gonna try and tell me you haven’t noticed something strange happen in this place?”

“Mmmph,” Nancy murmurs from underneath the pillow. She sits up and shakes out her titian hair. “Actually, last night I went down to the library to have a look around when Louis wasn’t there.” Frank admires the way she says this with no shame. “And when I came back up, I passed by a painting on the left staircase—the one with the woman in pink—I swear I saw her eyes move.” She catches Frank’s disbelieving expression and flushes slightly. “I was probably just imagining it. I’ve been kind of tired lately, it’s hard to sleep here.”

Joe waves his arms excitedly. “No, no, exactly like that! It’s never something big, we haven’t seen a ghost (that wouldn’t be realistic), but just little things that add up. Like how we heard that woman crying yesterday, but it wasn’t Abby or Rose. Or how the curtains in the parlor flew up even though the windows were shut. Someone doesn’t want this house made into a B&B. Someone...or, ‘some—“

“Some_thing_, yeah, we get it Joe,” Frank snaps. “And stop using air quotes!”

Evidently sensing that he’s getting nowhere with his brother, Joe turns to Nancy instead. “You were there, Nance, you heard Abby! ‘A restless spirit can soon become an angry spirit.’”

Frank lightly shoves his brother off the vanity and picks up a pen. “Why don’t we make a list?” he suggests to Nancy. _Anything to get off this stupid topic_, he thinks. “We’ll put all our suspects here, and—“

“—and compile all the evidence we have on each. Good plan!” She smiles brightly at him and jumps up off the bed to join him. “I do the same thing.”

“God, you two are made for each other,” Joe grumbles from the corner, unheard by both.

* * *

Frank is trying not to suspect Louis, if only to prove Joe wrong. His brother clearly just has a problem with authority, and Louis—in his black slacks and tie, with his tendency to act incredibly busy—has authority written all over him. He’s still convinced Charlie is behind the accidents, but Joe’s got a better relationship with the “handyman,” so Frank’s decided to put more of his effort into cultivating a rapport with Louis. Louis, unfortunately, is not making this very easy. Frank is pretending to examine a book on musical notation and sneak a peek at the mismatched tiles around the fireplace when Louis loudly shuts his laptop and clear his throat.

“Why are you always here?” he asks Frank, point blank.

Frank’s brain stutters. “Uh, well, you see, I—I’ve been trying to ask you about what your job’s like,” he blurts out, horrified at where his own mouth is going. “Yeah, I’ve been wondering if…antique dealing is a good field for me, but you always seem so busy, so I don’t know if you’ve got the time to answer questions.” He cringes inwardly at his own ineptitude and starts edging toward the door.

Louis leans back in the cushioned chair and studies him carefully. “_You’re_ interested in antiques?”

Frank’s not sure whether to feel offended or relieved by Louis’ disbelief. “Well, I’m interested in everything, I guess. I need to start nailing down a future career.” He straightens his shoulders, regaining his confidence as he goes along. “I’m nineteen, but I haven’t been to college yet. I’m taking a gap year to try and figure myself out.”

“Hmm.” Louis appraises him carefully. “Listen, I’ll tell you right now, it’s not a great career if you’re just after the money.” He opens a drawer in his desk, rummages around for a minute, and comes up with a tin can of mints. He offers one to Frank and then pops three in his mouth. “Sometimes, if you’re real lucky, or well-connected, you can get somewhere, but don’t expect this to be a walk in the park.”

“Um…_do_ people actually think that?” Frank wonders in surprise, taking a seat across from Louis. He feels oddly like a little boy called to the principal’s office.

Louis smirks. “You’d be surprised. When I was your age, I thought for sure I would be raking in the deals. It’s a lot more difficult than most people realize. Sellers spook easily and buyers can sometimes be hard to find.”

Frank absentmindedly takes another mint from the open tin. “What got you into antiques?”

“That’s a good question. At the time, I thought it was the dream job. You can set your own hours, make your own terms, and see some really fascinating pieces of history at the same time. But specializing in Victorian antiques in San Francisco turned out to be more of an uphill battle than I anticipated. It’s a dog eat dog world out there. You do what you must to survive.” His words have a chilling undercurrent to them that rubs Frank the wrong way.

Louis seems to sense that the conversation has taken an odd turn, because he quickly forces a smile and changes the subject. “What about that brother of yours? What are his plans for the future?”

“Joe’s more of a—spur of the moment kinda guy,” admits Frank, shifting in the chair.

Louis grimaces. “Yes, I had gotten that impression.”

With a wince, Frank recalls Joe’s ill-fated plan to convince Louis to leave his briefcase unattended by concocting an outlandish tale of a haunting in the basement. Luckily, Louis had just assumed that Joe was some sort of prankster and not deliberately luring him away from the study.

Frank feels the need to defend his brother. “He’s not the best at staying focused, but he’s smart and I know he has a lot of options.” _Like staying with ATAC for a little while_, he adds silently.

“Well, remind him that he’ll want to decide soon—and to _think through_ his options. Otherwise, he could end up like Charlie,” Louis finishes with a sour expression.

“Oh, uh, Charlie? He doesn’t seem so bad,” Frank bluffs. “I know he’s not exactly the most experienced, but he’s studying hard at college and he seems nice enough.”

Charlie _is_ nice enough, but Frank has his doubts as to whether Charlie can actually be considered a hard worker. They’ve been at the B&B for a week and a half now, but it doesn’t look like Charlie’s gotten anything done since they arrived. Joe’s still adamant about defending the guy, but Frank and Nancy both think there’s certainly more to Charlie than meets the eye.

Louis plainly feels uncharitable toward Charlie as well. “Nice, perhaps, but competent? Surely not. I’m certain he gave my laptop a virus—ever since I let him use it, it won’t run properly. That’s why I’ve stopped lending out my laptop for just anyone.”

“Are you sure it’s not something you did?” Frank asks tentatively.

Rather than look offended, Louis appears mystified by the question. “How could it be? I only use my laptop for work.”

“Nothing else?” prods Frank.

Louis thinks for a moment. “Oh, I like to play some quick games now and again. Not for fun, mind you, just—to be intellectually stimulated.”

Frank nods slowly. “Right, yeah.” The maze wasn’t exactly what Frank would call a brain teaser, but maybe Louis is just trying to save face. Even if Louis is lying about the virus, it’s worth checking in with Charlie and figuring out why he needed to use the laptop. Maybe he, too, had tried to snoop through Louis's files? But that didn't make much sense either. What reason would Charlie have for going through Louis's things?

Louis glances away, busying himself with some papers on his desk. “Regardless, I need my laptop for work. Especially since Rose and I are the only ones who seem invested in making this work. The three of you will be leaving soon, Charlie’s all but useless, and Abby’s no help, of course, just continues to peddle that ridiculous haunting theory of hers.”

Frank’s a little relieved that there’s someone else around here with a bit of sense. Abby’s been infecting everyone with her ghost ideas and it’s quickly turned from amusing to annoying. “You don’t buy it either, huh?”

“There’s certainly something going on with this place, but I highly doubt it’s anything to do with ghosts. Really, if you ask me, the whole venture is just hopeless. Rose and Abby never should have bought the place to begin with.”

“Uh,” says Frank, taken aback. Louis had never expressed such thoughts before—especially not with such vehemence. He makes a valiant attempt at regrouping. “Well, I’m sure they’ll be able to make a go of it. I hear B&B’s are the new thing around here.”

Louis hums under his breath and doesn’t respond, meaning it’s once more upon to Frank to keep this awkward conversation going. He casts about for something to say, settling on, “Is there anything special about this house in particular?”

“No, nothing especially unusual. It’s a rather typical home for the style and time period—beautiful, but typical.” Louis studies him for a long moment, then abruptly turns the questioning back on him. “What made you come out to San Francisco, Frank? If I’m not mistaken, you’re from Bayport? That’s quite a trek.”

Frank doesn’t remember telling Louis where he’s from, but he supposes the man could have picked it up from someone else in the house. “Uh, yeah, it’s about a seven-hour flight. Joe won a contest in a magazine, trip for two. We were just going to do touristy things until we ran into Nancy at the airport.”

Louis leans forward and places his folded hands atop the desk in front of him. “Do you know Nancy well?”

Frank pauses. Something in his gut tells him not to be entirely truthful. “No—I mean, our dads are friends, but we’ve never spent much time together. She’s usually pretty busy traveling, and I’ve been trying to buckle down and prepare for college.”

Louis seems convinced, at least. “You know, Frank, you’re a good kid. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, I can tell that much. Just…don’t get distracted. Eyes on the prize, I always say,” he chuckles to himself and leans back in his chair. “Eyes on the prize.”

* * *

“Okay, this is getting too real, kids. Mysterious Chinese characters everywhere? Sure. A secret attic covered up by ceiling tiles? Bring it on. Threatening note slipped under the door? Old hat. But setting fire to important documents in the hopes that we will _burn to death_? A little much, don’t you think?” Joe sits underneath the small, grimy window in the aforementioned hidden attic, his blue eyes wide and anxious.

“That might be a little melodramatic." Nancy purses her lips pensively. “But I see what you mean. Obviously, we’re getting close to something.” She sits across from him, resting her head in her hand and drawing shapes in the dust with her pinky finger. “These papers prove we were on the right track with Valdez, so clearly we need to keep digging there. And these Chinese characters must mean something, right?”

Joe shrugs. “Frank should be back from Chinatown any minute now with that translation. I wish I’d gone to Chinatown,” he murmurs distractedly. “I could really go for some dumplings right about now.” His expression turns dreamy as his mouth waters.

Nancy frowns. “I’m sorry, Joe. Your vacation’s almost over, and you haven’t even left the B and B.”

Joe straightens up and gives her a mock glare. “Nan, don’t be this crevice in my arm. I’m the one who suggested Frank and I help you with the case, we all know you would’ve done the whole ‘independent woman’ thing and gone solo if I hadn’t, and you would’ve been brilliant at it. Really, you’re the one helping us. Frank gets a little stir-crazy without a mystery to solve,” he finishes in a stage-whisper.

She lets out a tired laugh and rests her head against the side of the old wooden bureau. “Oh, I know that feeling.” She is looking more exhausted with every hour they spend in the mansion. Joe doesn’t want to believe in ghosts (well, kind of), but he can’t think of a non-supernatural explanation behind the house’s odd ability to suck the life force out of everyone in it.

He sighs and shakes it off. “Let’s review, shall we? That’s what Frank always does when we’re stuck. We’ve got Charlie living under the basement, Rose with a massive insurance policy on this place, Abby's bizarre psychic powers that might actually be fake, and Louis pressuring Rose to sell. Plus, we have Lizzie Applegate, Chinese letters, and Valdez, whoever that is.”

“Don’t forget the story about El Diablo,” Nancy reminds him, slightly more alert now that she has something to do. “I still think it’s not Rose, but Charlie is looking more and more suspicious. Hear me out,” she insists when Joe squawks in protest. “Not only is he writing a term paper on this very subject, so clearly, he knows a lot about this kind of thing, but he’s also _living under the house_. That doesn’t strike you as just a little odd?”

Joe shifts unhappily. “Okay, fine, Charlie shouldn’t be sleeping here. But honestly Nan, I just feel bad for the guy.”

Nancy lifts her head up and raises an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

“Well,” Joe sighs, “when I was talking to him the other day…”

* * *

“So, do you have any family around San Fran?” Joe asks cheerily, toying with a hammer as Charlie scrapes at a piece of plaster.

“Uh, no, not really. Look man, please don’t break that, okay? I can’t exactly afford to buy a new one.” Charlie’s white T-shirt is drenched with sweat. The air conditioner broke three days before, but Rose has marked it as ‘low priority,’ and has instead placed fans around the B and B.

“Oh. Sorry, Charlie.” Joe let out a loud laugh. “Oh, I just realized, you probably hear that all the time, don’t you?”

Charlie shoots him a sideways glance. “Um, I guess?”

Joe feels the conversation getting away from him and scrambles to keep it going. “Aww, you’re right, name puns are not cool. Pretty uncreative, if I do say so myself. When we were growing up, Frank would always make these lame jokes about how I was ‘just another average Joe.’” He pulls a face and is relieved to hear Charlie chuff out a laugh.

“Sounds like you two are pretty close,” Charlie murmurs, setting down his paint scraper.

Joe shrugs and sits on the ground with his back up against the half-finished wall. “Yeah, no kidding. Don’t tell him I told you this, but Frank’s probably my best friend. We do just about everything together.”

Charlie sits beside him and sighs wistfully. “That sounds nice…”

“Do you have any brothers? Or sisters?” Joe adds, chancing another personal question. He mentally crosses his fingers and hopes Charlie will finally open up.

“Uh, yeah, I have a little brother. We’re not close like you guys though. Actually, I haven’t talked to him since I came out here.” Charlie laughs hollowly and tilts his head back, closing his eyes. “My parents are kind of…I don’t know. I came to San Francisco to get away, you know? I don’t want to be just some stupid farm boy from Iowa. And the people there can be so close-minded sometimes! Just because I don’t—” Charlie stutters to a stop and shoots a nervous glance Joe’s way, evidently embarrassed that he’s been so open with himself.

Joe does his best to look reassuring. “Gotcha. You felt a little confined, yeah?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Charlie mutters, wiping his hands on his jeans. Dusty white fingerprints are all over the worn blue denim. Charlie wears virtually the same thing every day, and it’s hard for Joe to not wonder where he does his laundry.

In fact, the whole situation has given him a ridiculous number of questions. Where does Charlie address his mail for college? Does he survive entirely off takeout? Are Rose and Abby paying him enough to get by? Most importantly, how has no one noticed that Charlie is a deeply lonely guy who’s in over his head and probably hasn’t eaten a real, homecooked meal in weeks?

Joe suddenly realizes that neither one of them has spoken for a solid minute and scrounges up something to say so that the conversation doesn’t stall. “Look, man, I get it. I mean, I love Bayport, but sometimes it seems like I can’t go anywhere without someone mentioning to my mom that they saw me. Like, why can’t I have a little privacy, y’know? It’s the worst when I’m on a date with a girl and then practically everyone knows about it the next day!”

Charlie twists his lips into an apologetic smile. “I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing.”

“…oh,” says Joe, at a loss.

Charlie gives a pitiful shrug. “Well, anyway, I’m not who they want me to be. I thought things would be better out here, that I would find more guys—_people_ like me. But I guess I kinda underestimated how expensive it would be.”

Joe’s wondering just how far he can push this. Charlie’s got an obvious motive for causing accidents at the B and B—if Rose and Abby have to shut it down, he’ll still have a place to stay. But could he be interested in it for something more? “You have a roommate?”

“Uh, yeah. Three actually.” He rubs the back of his neck and avoids eye contact.

Joe plays dumb. “Oh, wow! What are they like?” He's relatively certain Charlie won't just give up the goods so easily, but it's worth a shot.

Charlie shrugs again. “Um, you know, normal. I don’t spend a whole lot of time with them, I’m so busy working here or studying. I’m majoring in history, did I tell you that?”

Joe accepts the change in topic, finally realizing there’s no way he’ll get more out of Charlie right now. “Yeah, I think Rose mentioned that. What kind of history?”

“American. Gold Rush, specifically.” Charlie’s eyes light up and he begins to gesticulate wildly. “It’s such a cool era, right? There’s so much freedom! You can go anywhere, do anything, discover this completely pure frontier, make up your own rules…It was hard, but it was your choice, you know? Everyone did what they had to in order to get by.”

Joe finds himself nodding along; Charlie does manage to make it sound appealing. “Cool! So it wasn’t just all vagabonds stopping trains and stuff?”

Charlie pushes himself to his feet and offers Joe his hand. “Well, there was some of that too. I’m writing about one for a term paper, if you wanna take a look. As soon as I find the disc again. I’m kind of freaking out, my back-up’s supposed to be at school, but I can’t find it…”

* * *

“Which reminds me,” Joe mutters to Nancy. “We really need to put that thing back.”

Nancy tilts her head to the side and works out the kink in her neck. “We can’t put it back where we found it, then he’ll know he didn’t just lose it. We might be able to leave it somewhere in the basement, though.”

Joe lets his shoulders fall in relief. It’s been weighing on him a little—adding more to Charlie’s worries doesn’t seem like a great idea at the moment.

“There is still the fire to deal with,” she reminds him. “I certainly don’t think that it was a murder attempt, but I also really doubt that it was an accident. There must have been something in those documents that someone didn’t want anyone else to see.”

“If it had been an accident—_which it wasn’t_—but if it had been, yeah, Charlie would get some of the blame for it,” he concedes. “But since it was probably intentional, I really doubt he would open himself up to that criticism. Someone’s probably trying to misdirect us by putting the blame on him.”

“That’s a fair point,” Nancy says, nodding thoughtfully. It’s enough to give him the drive to continue.

“And honestly, doesn’t Louis look suspicious as well? Okay, Abby told Charlie to buy the screen for the fireplace, but then Louis told him not to!” Joe shifts against the wall and feels his back protest. “Nance, I know what you’re thinking. Frank tells me the same thing every time, that I let my feelings get in the way of the case, that I rely too much on how nice someone seems…but I can’t help it. I _know_ it’s not Charlie.”

A slow smile spreads across her face. “Actually, you don’t know what I’m thinking. And to be honest, if you and Frank came along on more of my cases, he would probably tell me the same thing. Maybe I don’t think Charlie’s innocent, but I do think Rose is, even though I should be considering all angles.”

Joe gazes blankly at her.

“I think I told you I’m here as a favor to Hannah?” Nancy confirms, running her fingers through the ends of her hair. “And Hannah trusts Rose, so that’s good enough for me. Which is probably shoddy detective work…but I’d prefer to call it a hunch, wouldn’t you?”

He exhales slowly, at last understanding. “You know Nancy Drew, I used to think you were exactly like Frank, but now I’m not so sure.”

She laughs, the full sort of laugh that starts in the lungs and spreads to the stomach. “I’d like to think that I’m just me. Now, why don’t we take another look around and see if we can’t find something to pry open the door?”

* * *

Frank enters Nancy’s room without knocking, throwing open the door with such force that it hits the wall with a thud. “Where’s Nancy?”

Joe looks up from the paper he’s writing on. “No idea.” He’s diligently copying down everything he can remember from Charlie’s term paper in the hopes it contains some vital clue. To Charlie’s credit, it is kind of interesting—and unfortunately, it ties in very neatly with the clues they’ve picked up around the house. Joe _really_ doesn’t want to suspect Charlie, but it seems like he’s running out of options. No one else is nearly so suspicious, even if they are all super weird.

Frank heaves a frustrated sigh. “We need to find her! Louis finally left his briefcase in the library, I opened it, and he’s been collecting information on her—he’s got all these newspaper clippings on her, look!” He tosses his findings on the desk and begins to pace back and forth.

Joe picks his way through the papers and makes a face to himself as his brother starts to ramble. This is _exactly_ the kind of incriminating evidence he was hoping to find on someone other than Charlie! Well…maybe not exactly. He certainly wasn’t expecting to find out that Louis had been digging up the dirt on Nancy. “I wonder what Mattie Jensen’s like?” says Joe, resting his chin on his hand and looking wistful. “Probably a glorious train wreck.”

Frank throws his head back and groans. “Joe! Didn’t you hear what I said? Louis is spying on Nancy!”

“And I find that unsurprising because, as I’ve said from the beginning, Louis is the one behind these accidents,” he replies matter-of-factly. “What _is_ surprising is that our friend worked with a famous TV star and never told us!”

“Can you be serious for a minute, instead of gloating over being right?” Frank snaps.

“Nope,” says Joe, with visible satisfaction.

Nancy arrives then, breathless and carrying two books under her arm. “You’ll never guess what—”

“Louis did it!” Joe interrupts, kicking his feet up on the desk. “And you worked with _Mattie Jensen_! What’s she like?”

Nancy furrows her brow, thrown by the non-sequitur. “What?”

“Louis has been gathering information on you,” Frank explains, passing her one of the newspaper clippings.

Nancy quickly scans the clipping. “Hmm. I wonder how he even knew where to look for this,” she says. “Maybe he just happened to come across it?”

“But then why cut it out?” Frank says. “It makes no sense, unless he was trying to find something on you. He must have figured out that you’re a detective, and now he’s suspicious of you and _that’s_ why he won’t tell you anything.”

“Or, he just came across it by accident and cut it out to ask me about later,” she suggests, pulling on the ends of her ponytail restlessly. “It might all be a coincidence.”

“There’s no way this is a coincidence,” denies Frank. He peers at her more closely, obviously taken aback by her strange reaction to the news. “Why are you not more freaked out by this?”

“Look, I get why it makes you suspicious, but I think you’ll change your mind when you hear what I found.” Nancy passes the two books she’s carrying to Joe and starts to lay out her case. “It’s Abby. It _has_ to be. I went looking in there when she was out and Rose was in the dining room, and I found out that she’s behind pretty much every instance of ‘haunting’ here.”

“_Mastering the Art of Illusion_,” reads Joe. “_Fortune Telling for Business Popularity_.” He flips the first book open to a random page and begins reading while Nancy recounts to them her findings in Abby’s room.

“She has a whole set-up, audio and visual, so she can spy on everyone in the house and play haunted noises whenever she wants to spook them.”

Joe raises his eyebrows. “First of all, that’s a major violation of privacy.” He shudders a little to think of Abby watching the three of them wandering around the house and choosing when to play one of her spooky sound effects.

“I knew she was a fraud,” says Frank, with his one-track mind.

“The séance was faked. So was the curtains blowing when there was no wind, and the woman walking by the mirror in the hall…everything is one of her tricks. She must have been doing this to try and get more bookings for the B and B.”

“So it’s definitely Abby, then?” says Frank.

“Can’t say I’m surprised.” Joe looks up from the book to say, “I hate to admit it, but…” Frank smirks and raises his eyebrows expectantly. “Yes?”

“Okay, no, nope. Not gonna say it. You are way too proud of yourself. Nance, thank you for being more graceful in your victory.”

Nancy smiles a little sadly at him. “At least it wasn’t Charlie,” she offers.

Joe lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Yeah, there’s that. Whatever, I’m just glad we’ve finally figured out who did it.”

* * *

Joe lied, of course. He’s still positive it’s not Abby—not entirely, at least. She might be wacky, sure, but she’s never seemed all that dangerous. Nancy and Frank begin to debate how they’ll go about proving Abby’s guilt to Rose, who’ll probably be both crushed and incredulous that her partner would do such a thing, but Joe pretends to need the bathroom so he can get a little space.

He ambles down the hall, considering all the various angles of the case. It’s not Charlie, he tells himself, and it’s not Abby. It could be Rose, but the pieces don’t quite fit with her either. He still thinks Louis is the strongest suspect, although there’s always a possibility that it’s someone who doesn’t live in the Golden Gardenia at all. It's a reach, of course, but Joe’s always been good at jumping to conclusions—

A voice jolts him out of his thoughts.

“Hello, Joe.” He whirls around to face Abby, standing in the door frame of her room and smirking. “You look like you’re in a hurry.”

“No, not really,” Joe mutters nonchalantly, taking a step toward the redhead. “I was just on my way to talk with Rose, as a matter of fact.” Joe is once again lying, but if there’s anything he’s learned on his cases, it’s that sometimes a lie is necessary in order to bring out the truth. “I wanted to tell her that we’ve got these ‘hauntings’ all figured out.” He puts the words in air quotes, and wonders in the back of his mind what Frank would think if he saw him.

Abby raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Oh really? That was fast.”

Joe shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks forward onto his toes. “Yeah, I guess. After we found that tape you put under the table in the basement, all the pieces just…fell into place.”

“Excuse me?” Abby says, her eyes narrowing. She takes a step forward and crosses her arms over her chest.

Joe has been through this situation too many times to be frightened, and Abby is far from terrifying. “Forget it, Abby,” he says, dropping the diffident air. “We know it was you, staging all of this. What will Rose think?”

Abby glares at him. “Rose will understand that I’m doing this for her, for us. _You_ just don’t get it,” she continues, frustrated. Her mass of her red hair pushes itself over her face, one gold hoop earring peeking through. “How old are you? 18? Being an adult is _hard_. Rose and I have been trying to make something work for years, but every time, something gets in the way. We can’t fail again. You and those other two—you don’t know anything about the real world. I heard your brother tell Louis he’s taking a gap year, for Pete’s sake! Most of us don’t have that kind of luxury.”

Joe frowns. It’s beginning to look like Abby might actually be behind this, and he’s a little disappointed that it was so easy to get her to confess. “That doesn’t mean you can sabotage this place, and stage fake hauntings, just to make a little more money.”

“A little more money?” Abby repeats disbelievingly. “You think this is just because I want to make a quick 50 bucks on the side? Give me a break, kid. First of all, I haven’t been sabotaging anything. I want this place to succeed—I _need_ this place to succeed—because this dump’s taken every penny I have. And if a few spooky voices are going to keep us afloat, then so be it.”

Joe is momentarily thrown off balance. “I’m telling Rose,” he declares, ignoring the fact that he sounds like a ten-year-old tattling on a sibling. What Abby’s doing is wrong, he’s certain of it. And maybe it’s true that Abby isn’t behind the accidents, but she’s definitely doing something she shouldn’t be.

“Go ahead,” Abby retorts with a sneer, turning back to go in her room. “And when we’re living on the streets, you can comfort yourself with your _morals_. I’m going to the Winter Festival. You can decide whether or not you want to punish people for just trying to get by.”

He doesn’t have anything to say in response; Abby shuts the door right in his face without waiting anyway. Unsettled, Joe turns to go to the foyer, but he halts at the top of the stairs. He studies the crystal chandelier and the way the light streaming through the stained glass creates a pattern on the floor. He lets his mind wander again.

_Remember, illusions are about control, and you must always strive to maintain this control._

He wonders if he made Abby’s control slip, or if he saw just what she wanted him to. He wonders if Rose would even care that Abby is faking. He glances down at the carpet on the landing, and freezes when he spies little wooden blocks.

His breath catches in his throat.

* * *

“It all makes sense!” Joe says, pacing back and forth in Nancy’s room.

“Does it?” asks Frank. He’s sitting on the desk chair again and trying (and failing) to put all the pieces together. “We still have no idea who’s behind this.”

“Sure, sure, but we finally know who E is and who Valdez is! E for Elizabeth, Lizzie Applegate, who fell in love with Diego Valdez, who must have been El Diablo! And the reason there have been so many accidents is that someone wants the B and B to clear out so they can find the treasure.”

Frank picks up the piece that fastened the letter Joe found. “I’ve been keeping track of all the Chinese symbols that have popped up around the house and translating them—apparently for nothing. But maybe…here, this piece matches the script on top of the letter: gold.”

“And this is just further proof that Abby was faking that séance,” says Joe, “but that doesn’t mean she’s been causing all the accidents.”

Nancy looks up from the letter to tell him, “Oh, Frank and I went looking and we found out that she’s been putting speakers in the vents. That must be why you heard a voice the other day.”

“Ugh,” Joe groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “We’re not _still_ pushing this Abby thing, are we?”

Frank ignores him and begins to think out loud. “In that letter we found, the one from Rose’s friend, he mentioned that Abby was talking about the spiritual power of gold…I thought she was just too greedy or something, but it could be that she actually believes all this stuff about ghosts.”

That idea definitely doesn’t sit well with Frank, who was hoping they would leave all the supernatural stuff behind once they figured out Abby’s methods. Joe also seems put off by the idea, perhaps still pulling for Louis to be the culprit.

“Hang on, hang on,” Nancy interrupts suddenly. “This is all really important, of course, but look!” Frank and Joe both turn to follow her gaze, which rests on twelve small carvings near the bottom of her floor next to her bed.

“That…wasn’t there before,” Frank observes, dropping to his knees to inspect the new addition. He runs a hand over the woodwork. “These look like animals. And you can push in the tiles!”

Nancy impatiently tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and squeezes in next to him for a closer look. “Rose did say she removed a tapestry from my room for cleaning. It must have been covering this up. But what could this mean?”

Joe hovers above both their heads and squints. “Wait a minute. We’re in the Chinese room—what are the chances these animals don’t have anything to do with China?”

“That’s it!” Nancy snaps her fingers triumphantly. “I found this book in Abby’s room on Chinese New Year and the accompanying symbols. Each year comes with a corresponding animal in a specific order. That must be what these are for. I just wish I could remember the order.”

Joe swivels his head to question her. “Do you think the book’s still there?”

Nancy shrugs. “I don’t see why not—"

“Abby’s at the Winter Festival with everyone else. I can run and get it right now,” Joe interrupts, eager to figure out the end to this eerie enigma of a mansion. He dashes out and misses Nancy’s call.

“I didn’t get to tell him where the book is,” Nancy tells Frank, frowning.

“He’ll find it,” Frank assures her. “But I think we might not need it after all. Joe and I worked on a case in Shanghai that involved these symbols. I'm pretty sure I can remember it, if I just...got it!"

* * *

Joe underestimated just how much stuff one woman could have. Granted, some of this must belong to Rose as well, but the crystal balls, the tarot cards, and the chunky jewelry are all clearly Abby’s. The bookshelf is quite literally the last place he thinks to look, assuming Abby would have hidden any incriminating details, but when he finally grabs it, he hears a loud thump coming from the foyer.

His stomach drops and his heart begins to pound as he dashes out of the room.

For the second time that day, Joe finds himself at the top of the stairs, looking out over the foyer. Nancy is passed out on the floor. Frank’s legs are sticking out from under the scaffolding, which must have collapsed on top of him and caused the thud he heard earlier. And the orchestrator of it all is apparently Louis, who is crouching on the ground and scooping out gold pieces from the hole in the floor.

_Diego, coins, false floor_, his mind provides. All this time spent traipsing back and forth, all over the house, and the whole time there’s been buried treasure right under the floor.

He shakes himself and tries to quickly assess the situation. Rose, Abby, and Charlie are all off at the Winter Festival, so he can hardly hope for help from that group. He also doubts Nancy and Frank are going to be up and at ‘em anytime soon—actually, he’s kind of worried Frank might not be able to get up at all considering all the scaffolding on top of him.

Joe sizes him up and thinks that he could probably take Louis in a fight. He creeps down the staircase, hoping to catch the man by surprise. Instead, he steps on a creaky stair and Louis’s head snaps up, immediately catching him in the act.

"_You_," he says angrily, dropping the gold coins and springing to his feet.

Joe supposes it was wishful thinking to believe that he could get this whole thing done without having to fight someone first.

Louis is surprisingly spry for a man his age—Joe tries to wrench his arm behind his back, but Louis just slides right out of his grasp and throws a directly right at his head. Joe ducks just in time and nearly trips right over the crowbar on the ground—it skids across the floor toward the front door, but at least Louis can’t get to it.

He turns back to Louis and squares his shoulders. Maybe if he goes directly at Louis’s torso and tries to tackle him…he aims for the stomach and just barely misses getting hit in the face. He ducks again, tries to go for the knees, and then gets locked in a weird arm grab where the both of them are pushing with all they have and rapidly getting nowhere.

In the process, he completely misses Nancy waking up and taking stock of the situation. In his defense, he’s a little busy dodging Louis’s fists and internally groaning at the idea of getting beat in a fight by an old man who finds internet mazes “intellectually stimulating.”

“Joe!” Nancy shouts.

He looks up and sees her standing right by the cord keeping the chandelier in place. He cottons on to her meaning in a flash and launches himself across the room, as far away from the falling chandelier as possible.

Louis tries to do the same, but he’s just a second too slow: the chandelier falls right on his legs, trapping him there as he moans feebly. 

* * *

“The good news is, no one has a head injury,” Joe declares around a mouthful of King’s fried rice. His hand is bandaged from where a shard of glass from the falling chandelier caught him, but he’s otherwise unharmed.

“Isn’t the good news that you managed to stop Louis in time before he could make off with the gold?” Frank counters from his spot on the creaky stairs. He has a nasty looking bruise forming on his forehead that both Nancy and Joe had panicked over, yet Frank had miraculously escaped a concussion.

Joe shrugs with an unrepentant grin. “I was being modest.”

Nancy, sitting cross-legged on the landing, interjects before the brothers can keep bickering. “I would say that the good news is that Rose and Abby have an incredibly successful B & B before it even officially opens. Not to mention the fact that Charlie has a place to stay while he continues his education.”

Frank shakes his head. “I still can’t believe Rose and Abby let him have a bit of the reward money,” he says before popping a dumpling in his mouth.

“Well, why not?” Nancy asks. “He might not have been a stellar handyman, but he needs somewhere to stay, and it can’t be here. At least this way, he has enough for his own place.”

“I’d say that was really more Rose than Abby, anyway. You can tell who wears the pants in that relationship,” Joe points out. He accidentally drops his chopsticks, leans down to pick them up, then abruptly jolts up and stares at a painting along the wall. “Guys? Is Abby still in the house?”

Frank claps him on the shoulder and begins steering him toward the front door. “Come on, Joe. Our flight doesn’t leave until tomorrow, so we should have just enough time for Alcatraz. That way, you can stop having nightmares of haunted mansions, and start having ones of maximum-security prisons and serial killers.”

“Frank, you forgot your fortune cookie.” Nancy scoops it out of the bag and hurries after them, holding it out in her hand.

He waves her off easily and, ignoring Joe’s betrayed look, says, “It’s fine, you can have it.”

Nancy smiles back in response, breaking open the cookie and retrieving the little slip of paper. She spares it the quickest of glances before laughing loudly and handing it to Joe. In slanted red script, it reads:

_Not all is as it seems._

* * *

_To Be Continued?_

I wanted to give proper credit where credit is due by linking [the post](https://bessgeorgefrankjoe.tumblr.com/post/161399412418/if-i-could-write-something-for-project-ndae-i) that started it all, a project NDAE suggestion by bessgeorgefrankjoe, which should tell you just how long it’s taken me to actually finish this thing! Thanks for the inspiration!


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